Page 13 of Dirty Sweet Valentine
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
Score!
I feel instantly harder, if that’s even possible. If the whole event was only about me, I’d have the condom on and be inside her before she could blink. And since I’ll likely never see Kira again, I could easily get away with selfish sex.
But I won’t let it ever be said that Chase Matthews took a girl for granted. Ever. Setting her down so I have both my hands free, I slip my fingers up her skirt and under the elastic ribbing at the leg of her panties. My thumb slides between her folds until I find the hood of her clit. With alternating featherlight swirls and concentrated pressure, I treat her as good as I know how.
Boosting my confidence further, Kira sighs deeply at my touch. “Yes,” she mumbles. “Oh God, yes.”
Her features hypnotize me—the way her mouth parts, the way she peers up at me from hooded lids—it’s beautiful in a way I’ve never noticed. Do all women look this gorgeous when they’re mid-clit rub? Maybe I just never paid attention. Maybe I had been taking them for granted.
When I feel her body start to tighten, I move my fingers further down. Damn, she’s already so wet. So ready for me. I’ll have to make this good, because I have a feeling I’m not going to last long inside her.
I glide two fingers in, my thumb still circling above.
Immediately, she cries out.
I reclaim her mouth, swallowing her sounds before she alerts the staff that we’ve taken over their storage room. Shit. The noises she makes when she comes are even more beautiful than her face. She is a revelation.
At this point I am turned on like a megawatt light bulb and I can’t bear the thought of waiting any longer to be inside her. Time to suit up.
“Should I get the condom?” Kira asks against my lips.
Apparently she’s on the same wavelength.
“Actually, I have one.” Thank God, too, because I hate the idea of breaking apart for her to rummage through her purse. Even letting her go to dig in my pocket is almost more than I can take. I retrieve the square foil from my wallet then push my pants and briefs down just enough for my dick to spring free.
Ah, much better.
Kira removes her panties while I rip open the condom and poise it over my cock. When I glance up, I notice her eyes glued to my shaft. Damn, that’s hot too. Is there anything this chick does that isn’t hot?
“Do you want to put it on?” I ask. Maybe she’s one of those girls who prefer to participate in this part. Or maybe I just want to feel her hands on me.
“No, thank you. But I’d like to watch, if you don’t mind.”
Mind? No, I definitely don’t mind.
I take my time rolling it on, basking in the heat of her watchful eyes. Calming down so that I can last longer. When I finish, I reach for her again, but she puts her palm up to stop me.
“Wow. That’s big.” Her brown eyes are wide. “I mean, not in a bad way or like I’m worried about it fitting or… God, I sound like a moron.”
I can’t help grinning. “Big is totally an acceptable description.” It’s true, too. Something I’ve always been proud of. I hold an arm out to her. “Now, come here.”
Instantly she’s on me, her mouth locked with mine, leg wrapped around my hip. I bunch her skirt up around her waist and position myself at her entrance. Then I’m sliding in and Chase Matthews Has Died and Gone to Heaven. Jesus, she feels good. Way good. Tight and wet and fucking awesome.
“Oh, wow.”
Did she just read my mind?
“Wow.” She says it over and over, seemingly surprised. I try not to let that offend me. “Wow. Oh, wow!” Her words trail away into incomprehensible gibberish.
Then talking is over. Hell, thinking is over. I kiss along her jaw and neck as I move in and out of her. The sexy noises she made earlier are nothing in comparison to the angelic sounds she makes now. They accompany each thrust, echoing in my head like a carnal symphony. I wish I could make it last forever—the feel of her, the sight of her, the music of her.
But, of course, I can’t. Too soon I can feel it starting, and then I’m coming, driving into her with a last long stroke. I groan her name into her ear as I do—which is weird. Normally I never call out anything but God and Jesus when I’m climaxing.
Perhaps it’s a good thing, then, that I’ll never see her again. That this tryst with Kira is a fuck in the stockroom and nothing more. Because otherwise—and I don’t want to sound all girly about it—otherwise I just might fall in love.
Two
An entire semester later, I’m still thinking about her. Kira. Kira Larson, according to what her girlfriend yelled as we emerged from the back room, slightly mussed and glowing all over. I stare at the blank document on my computer screen, the blinking cursor hypnotizing me. This isn’t really the way I want to spend such a beautiful February afternoon, but my brain just isn’t working right.
It’s not like I haven't met any other girls in my first few months on campus. Hell, I’ve met lots of girls. Girls who’d seemed interested, even. But every time I think of asking someone out or hooking up with a chick from my swipe app, all I can see is chocolate brown eyes and hear the sexy little sounds of that angel.
Fuck, I’m basically pussy-whipped. By a girl I met once in a town forty-five minutes away. Time to move on. Past time, really. Maybe I need to rip off the Band-Aid. Go out tonight and find someone to replace her memory. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Just as soon as I get this stupid paper finished. Which at this rate, will be some time next week.
Jared knocks as he sticks his head through my open door. “Hey, you coming with me?”
I’ve known Jared for ages. We hadn’t been best buds or anything, but we’d been friendly enough. Same crowd at school, same baseball letter jackets. So when he found out I was looking for a good school to follow up on my community college Associate’s Degree, Jared had suggested I check out University of Northern Colorado. The tuition is good and the school has a strong Education Department. It seemed like a good place for me to pursue my teaching degree.
Now I live with Jared, a spur-of-the-moment decision, in a house we share with six other guys. Most of them are a little more aggressively jock than I like, but we all get along well enough. They’re respectful, if not the neatest of roommates.
I lean back in my swivel chair and stretch until my back pops. Maybe I ought to take a break from staring at this screen. Grab a coffee or something. “Depends. Where you heading?”
Jared leans against the doorframe and gives me a wicked grin. “The Cherry Savers rally. They’re the ones that are publicly saving themse
lves for marriage.”
I raise a brow, obviously missing something. “Why the hell would we want to go there?”
“Those chicks won’t bang, but they give the best head on campus. It is known.”
I hide my eye roll by refocusing on my laptop. “You’re a total dog.”
“And you aren’t? At least I got a number last time I hooked up in a bar.”
“Touché.” And why hadn’t I at least asked for Kira’s number? I’ve been kicking myself about it ever since. But when we’d parted it had been so simple and easy and perfect—I hadn’t wanted to mess it all up by asking to see her again and being turned down. A girl like that wouldn’t want to date the guy she hooked up with in a bar. She would want the guy she could bring home to her parents with a nice story about meeting in a grocery store, or at a football game.
No, I’m good without that embarrassing memory tarnishing the one of the sex. This situation is fine. And there is no way in hell I would be caught going to a virginity club meeting. Chase Matthews Falls From Grace. “I think I’ll just stay in. I need to figure out what I’m doing for this article due Monday. But thanks for the invite.”
Jared shrugs and bends to tie his shoes. “Suit yourself.”
I thunk my head down on my desk and sigh. This article is killing me. Now that I’m all settled in here, I’d decided to pick up an extracurricular. I’d had a regular column on the paper at my last school and figured I was a shoo-in for at least an occasional feature in UNC’s campus journal. Turns out the editor is a dick. Or just unreasonable. He’d taken no more than a three second glance at the copies of my portfolio before shoving it back across the desk.
“Eight hundred words,” the editor had said. “Something about UNC campus life. Due Monday. Then I’ll decide.”
